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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269413">A side of Neville</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_is_not_a_good_idea/pseuds/that_is_not_a_good_idea'>that_is_not_a_good_idea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, I might not continue this is a trial run, I think JK did him dirty, Neville focused story, Other, i just wanted to write about my boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:48:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_is_not_a_good_idea/pseuds/that_is_not_a_good_idea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>WIP<br/>Neville is tired of being the side character. He goes in search of his destiny with the company of a blind owl and a toad.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay let's get a few things straight. I wrote this in a *very* short amount of time but this shit has been in my head for ages. Like, fuck JK Rowling are we supposed to be happy with Neville's ending? Barely character development apart from: suddenly gained confidence. Don't even get me started on the films in which his character development was NOW IM HOT FUCK YOU</p><p>I haven't watched the cursed kid or whatever so this isn't compliant with that. Also please (I'm begging you) become my beta. I don't know where I'm gonna go with this train wreck or if I'm even gonna continue so this is a sort of trial run? idk</p><p>Also I know I have a thing with sentence fragments but whatever.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His cold beer had formed a little puddle of condensation on the table. Neville drew his fingers through it, making swirling patterns on the wood. Today he just wanted to watch. He was always watching, these days, waiting maybe for something to happen. His friends (there was still a part of his heart that sang when he thought that) were red-faced with drink and laughter. There were 6 of them, grouped around the table in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place. The usual lot for their friday dinner: Harry (obviously, it was his home), Luna , Ginny, Hermione and, surprisingly today, Draco Malfoy.</p><p>He sat next to Harry at the end of the table, both of them a little apart from the rest of the group. He had hardly said a word after Hermione had barged into the kitchen 15 minutes late, dragging him in by his arm and pushing him none-too-gently into the seat next to Harry. Hermione had sat down a little pink, even she knew she was on the edge of meddling too much. It was Luna who first spoke up, raising her voice over Ron’s splutters of indignation. She smiled warmly at Malfoy and Neville had felt a jolt of anger, Luna was too nice to them. Malfoy ducked his head to avoid their stares and Neville found himself oddly satisfied at the guilt he saw in his cool grey eyes. It was his turn to feel pain. The group had welcomed him, somewhat reluctantly and with a few under-the-table kicks from Hermione, and they continued with their evening.</p><p>Neville watched Malfoy observe the group. His sharp eyes searched around desperately for social cues, the signal to laugh, or moan in sympathy, like a child sitting at the adults table for the first time, wanting to fit in with them. Neville wasn’t the only one watching him. Harry's eyes had barely left Malfoy since he had entered the room. They sat together, barely skimming shoulders, but Neville felt like a voyeur spying because it was so painfully intimate and fresh. Neville couldn’t blame Malfoy for leaning into him, everyone was. Harry was magnetic, electric, and everyone was pulled into him when he spoke. He consumed them, and they let him. Smiles became wider and lights shone more brightly over him, creating his own personal spotlight and audience. As usual, Neville's heart twisted nostalgically, a little in anger and a little in love for this great man. Neville hated the way that everyone, including himself loved Harry, so easily it was like breathing. Neville cringed at the memories of the painful crush he’d housed on Harry in second year. How Harry had been so oblivious of the way Neville's eyes tracked him everywhere they went. Neville never shared his crushes with his dorm mates. They found it so easy to share who they liked but Neville had always just blushed and shrugged no matter how hard they tried to guess who he liked. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, Neville just couldn't understand how anyone could share that part of themselves. The tender, embarrassing part that made you do stupid things to impress and was so, so easily hurt. When Neville had told Ginny about his old infatuation with Harry his cheeks had stained red and he had wanted to steal the words back, shove them deep down and never say them again. Ginny didn't understand his embarrassment. </p><p>'It was in, like, second year. Everyone was obsessed with him, and besides, you were what? Twelve? That doesn't count.'</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry began telling the story of how he’d got into a fight with his partner at the Ministry and his audience leaned towards him, as if Harry was their conductor, controlling them with the broad gestures he made when speaking. Every eye watched him and he wore it well. He had changed, become more confident with the war. He still hated the fame his name brought but he wore it better now. It was now a staff he carried in his hand rather than the cloak that used to smother him. Neville had also gained confidence in the war. His skin used to be uncomfortable to wear, bunching around his ankles and neck like an ill-fitting suit. But in the war he’d filled his skin until it fit. Had been able to stand without slouching, could control a crowd with a smile. The war had forced him to change and adapt but now it was all over, now everything was quiet, his skin began to bunch again. He felt the urge to hide from his new fans and an acrid taste filled his mouth when he was forced to speak at charity fundraisers. His speeches became stilted and boring and his smiles awkward. Ginny said it was because he missed the war and needed the adrenaline, the fight, the hunt. She said he needed to join the small wizards army, said he would be a good High Warlock. But the thought made him queasy.</p><p>Hermione said he needed a focus, an end goal, something to drive to and make him determined to meet. She gave him some pamphlets for an Aurors training program, the department that specialised in detective work. He’d taken the leaflets but they sat unread on his kitchen table at home.</p><p>Luna had told him it was pixies living in his hair and stealing his confidence. She had spent an hour trying to pick them out and Neville had appreciated the head massage.  He looked at her now, she sat with a small knowing smile on the opposite side of the table, her eyes on the ceiling. Neville wondered what she was thinking, he wanted to reach for her pale hand resting on the table and take it and ask her. But he couldn’t do that now. He had thought after the war they could maybe be something. It only seemed right, with everyone pairing off and the war pushing them together.But Luna’s eyes tracked Ginny around rooms and often she stood like a shadow at her side, touching elbows or linking fingers, as if Ginny could keep her tethered to the ground.<br/><br/>Neville was the only one without a pair and he felt left aside, abandoned. When telling Ginny this on the back door step of the burrow, she had passed him her fag and told him to stop wallowing in self pity. The bitter destructive side of him had wanted to crush the fag under his foot and walk off. But this was her form of reaching out, and besides, he wasn’t a main character, he couldn’t just get up and walk off whenever he wanted. Not like Harry, who had just stormed out of the room after Ron had made some obtuse comment about him and Malfoy. Pink flushing high on his cheeks, Malfoy fled the room like a scared cat and Hermione kicked Ron under the table. Their silent argument filled the air like fog, pressing down on his head and making him feel tired and heavy. But it was fine, they would be distracted soon enough, Harry was the main character so he’d be sure to have some sort of dramatic encounter outside and they’d be distracted from he way that Hermione and Ron’s teases were becoming less and less like fond jibes and more like underhand comments, spat through gritted teeth and angry eyes.<br/><br/>Sure enough, a shout of surprise from outside led the party out of the room. Neville stayed in his chair and leant back, letting his face relax from it's fixed smile. When he opened his eyes he jolted back in his chair. Luna was standing by the door, her arms stretching up above her head and touching the threshold. Her oddly shiny short muggle skirt had ridden up her thighs but Neville looked firmly at her eyes, blushing pink. She smiled sagely. “Don’t mope love, have the pixies gotten to you again?’</p><p>‘Nah, just. Tired,’ he smiled in a small way. </p><p>‘Shake your head, they'll fly right off, promise,’ Luna said, shaking hers and making her hair fall in front of her eyes. Neville let out a bark of laughter.</p><p> 'Go on! shake your head it’ll make you feel better. Shake away the impure thoughts,’ Luna giggled. She lifted her arms like a fortune tellers flowing scarves and waved them towards him.</p><p>Reluctantly he shook his head until his hair was sticking up and Luna’s laughter spurred him on until it was wild. Their laughter pushed away the ickiness of Ron and Hermione's short, silent fight. Neville had crossed the room to stand in front of her. His arms reached out and gently touched her waist. It felt right so he began to lean in but Luna's hand on his chest stopped him.</p><p>‘You don’t want this.’ she whispered</p><p>‘Yes I do.’ He whispered but he stood back.</p><p>‘No you don’t,' she said, smiling.</p><p>This made Neville frown.</p><p>‘They’re <em>my</em> feelings, I think I know how I feel, Luna’ He spat her name like it was poison and pushed past her, the sting of rejection making act younger than he was.</p><p>Luna grabbed his wrist.</p><p>“Go on then, kiss me. Dare you,’ Her hair was sticking up around her head, like a halo of unbrushed hair, her eyes were shining and she looked beautiful, but he didn’t want to. He <em>wanted</em> to want to but it felt wrong. </p><p>Neville shook his head and stepped back.</p><p>‘You don’t have to pair up, Neville. There’s a tribe of mermaids in the lake on Bersky Island that stay alone for-‘</p><p>‘Okay, okay I get it.’ Neville said, laughing.</p><p>'Don't get me wrong I do want to find someone but-'</p><p>‘-Now's not right for you.’</p><p>‘You don’t know I was going to say that!’</p><p>‘But you were, weren’t you.’ She said softly.</p><p>For a moment they stood together, quietly smiling. Luna placed a warm hand on his armand left the room to investigate the shouting outside. Neville felt like something big had happened. He got the sudden urge to leave, to leave everyone behind and go somewhere, do something. Live in a place that wasn’t London, where the concrete made the plants scream and the trees were cut to ugly knobbly stumps so they wouldn’t spread over the stress. He wanted to go see the mountains, breathe fresh air. He wanted to see the stars again. His feet were leading him to the fire place and he reached for the floo powder. He could go home and from there, anywhere. His future was endless he could do anything-</p><p>“YOU BASTARD HOW COULD YOU LEAVE.’ a loud shout interrupted his thoughts and he looked down at himself as if waking from a dream. Neville took his hand out of the floopowder dish and went upstairs to investigate what the hell was going on.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I forgot about this. Also: I don't support Jk rowling or anything she stands for, I'm simply stealing her characters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The doorknob was cold under his hands as he pushed the door open, letting a breeze of cold air into the house and making goosebumps appear on his bare arms. Hugging his arms to his body, Neville wandered down the front path to see what was going on. A group of shadowy figures stood a little way off down the street but Harry’s shouting could probably be heard by the whole neighbourhood. One of the figures turned towards him, the way he held himself and the cut of his outdated ill-fitting jacket seemed familiar and caused a peculiar ache in his chest. Suddenly Neville felt very tired and felt the urge to cry, to run to this stranger and let him take care of him. Neville turned around and left, his heart thumping so loudly he thought it would scare the pigeon that was perched, looking pissed off, on a coil of barbed wire on top of a friendly looking wall. Neville couldn’t understand what was happening to him. Something about the distant figure had made him feel like he was 13 again. (A memory: a long sallow face wreathed in a hat smothered with vulture feathers) A realisation that muddled it’s way through his foggy brain: Neville couldn’t remember the last time he cried. 13 year old Neville, with his red ringed eyes and nervous disposition had never felt so far away. Neville was too tipsy to apparate and too confused to turn back and take the floo. Maybe the bracing air on his walk home would sober him up? Neville hated being drunk.  <br/>He pushed the door to his little flat, bursting with green foliage, open and stepped inside. He had chosen it for the location, not the interior. Damp lurked in corners and cupboard doors fell off but the window looked out onto a wooded train track and, if his entire flat shook every time a train went by, it didn’t matter, because he could see the trees. Trees that stretched up to touch the sky. Kicking his shoes off, he headed on autopilot to the line of plants he was housing on the window sill. His fingers came back dry when he touched the soil and so he filled up a small watering can from the jug of filtered water on the counter. Despite growing up in a wizarding household, Neville still automatically performed tasks manually. Perhaps this was from the shame that came from having two talented parents and then turning out to be not much better than a squib. Or maybe, and less depressingly, he found comfort in the familiar muscle memory of simple tasks. <br/>A tapping at the window alerted him to the tiny tawny owl his friends had given him last year. The tiny owl was carrying a parcel in its mouth three times the size itself and was tottering on the edge of the window sill. He rushed to let her in, and she hopped regally through then promptly elegantly fell into his potted plant. A genuine smile, a laugh and the indignant chirps of the tiny bird as he brushed her off, filled his small apartment and pushed away the cold damp and the squeaking pipes for a few minutes. With a small affectionate peck, the bird hopped out of his hands and into the tank she shared with Trevor the toad. The owl was born blind, which Neville had worked out when she had squealed in surprise as the smooth pebble she thought she was sitting on turned out to be a bemused (strangely old) toad. It wasn’t surprising that the shop had never worked out she was blind, she easily navigated her surroundings relying on her hearing and touch. Neville wasn’t sure how she managed to deliver and send letters. Hermione said that wizarding owls were different from muggle owls and used the magical ley lines that crisscrossed the country to navigate. She told him it was a little like homing pigeons but at Neville’s blank look she had given up trying to explain.<br/>Neville’s heart dropped when he saw the familiar gaudy, cursive handwriting that precisely labelled the parcel. He immediately felt guilty for his bad reaction and carefully slid his thumb under the fold, making sure not to break the paper. Without looking at the contents he took the cream paper with it’s faint gold pattern and shuffled it into a drawer overflowing with brown paper and gum wrappers. He was sure Hermione would have a lot to say about that if she ever saw it (overly sentimental and hoarding would be words that would come up). I the minute it took to shove the drawer closed, he mustered up the courage to turn around and look at the contents of the parcel. On his desk sat a simple white box. Inside was a short letter:</p><p>										Longbottom  Manor<br/>										Augusta Longbottom<br/>Dear Neville,										<br/>We shall both be visiting St Mungo’s a day early this month as I have an urgent appointment with the family accountant to manage the Manor’s affairs. I will be sure to see you tomorrow. Do not be tardy. <br/>Yours sincerely,<br/>A. Longbottom</p><p> </p><p>Neville felt a small seed of dread plant itself in his stomach. His grandmother always wrote formal letters (apparently this meant she had excellent etiquette, the amount of times she had walked out of dinner parties said otherwise) but ‘yours sincerely’ meant she was pissed off with him. Underneath the letter was a pair of shiny black dragon leather shoes. They even smelled expensive. His grandmother had nagged him all last visit that he didn’t have an appropriate pair of shoes but this seemed overly excessive. He knew they were running a bit short at the moment, as well. That was another reason to add on his already worryingly long list of Things to Feel Guilty About. Underneath the pair of shoes was a pile of pamphlets, similar to the ones that Hermione had given him. He shoved them under the fridge and then felt even more guilty. Honestly he should just convert to being a Catholic at this point with all this guilt.<br/>The reason that he had come home flew out of his head. Thoughts of adventure and romantic ideas about leaving it all behind had been quashed by dreaded responsibilities. A rushed dinner of beans on toast and then he fell into bed, praying to not have one of his famous hangovers.</p><p> </p><p>---- </p><p>His new shoes pinched his feet as he half ran towards the apparition point. <br/>‘Ow, you fucker,’ a man said, now sitting on the floor after Neville had knocked him to the ground.<br/>‘Im so sorry, I didn’t see you, should've been looking where I was going.’ Neville said, reaching out a hand to help him up.<br/>‘Well, no shit.’ the man said, in a laugh, letting Neville haul him up. Their eyes met and Neville was 16 and shy again, housing a painful crush on a Hufflepuff. There was a cringing moment where he thought he didn’t remember him but then - the man shook his hand and brought him in for a crushing hug. The younger him would have cried with joy.<br/>‘Wow, Neville Longbottom. Christ, I haven't seen you in years! How are you? Bloody hell, you disappeared a bit, eh? God, I wish I had time to sit down and catch up but-’ he said, gesturing to his healer robes.<br/>‘Oh, you're a healer now? That great! Um, yeah im doing okay. You alright? Sorry it’s been so long.’<br/>‘Yeah, yeah. Well, you know, busy. But I’m alright.’<br/>Neville nodded and when it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything else the man punched his arm and grinned at him.<br/>‘Well, I’ve got to go. But see you around, yeah?’<br/>Neville nodded again, struck mute by this fleeting apparition from his past. </p><p>						***</p><p>There was one time where he had told them who he liked. Just once. They were all teasing Ron for his infatuation with giggly Lavender and for once everyone was safe and no one was fighting. Seamus ribbed Harry about Ginny and he turned a startling red. Ron gave a menacing look at Seamus that quickly stopped him and sent the rest of them into a laughing fit. <br/>His name was Wayne Hopkins and he had floppy brown hair that fell in his eyes and a white grin with a chipped tooth. He had a jealous streak and laughed too loud. Sometimes he would sling his arm around Neville in the corridors or brush dirt off his cheek. Neville didn’t love him but sometimes he thought he could, one day. In an abandoned classroom when they had been catching up on Charms homework there had been a moment when he thought Wayne would kiss him. His knee had pressed hard against Neville’s under the table for 3 perfect seconds and they were sitting too close but he had just punched Nevile in the arm with a strange smile and pushed his hair out of his eyes. In the dark dormitory Neville suddenly wanted to spill his secret into the dark. He wanted them to reassure him, say: ‘We’ve caught him staring at you mate.’ <br/>He wanted them to tease him about it, be silly, and leave them alone together, in the same way they did to Ron and Lavender.<br/>And then the name was out, with the awkward accompaniment of ‘he’ rather than ‘she’, in the darkness and he wanted to steal it back. He screwed up his eyes and pushed his body back into his bed, wanting to disappear. A silence followed.<br/>‘Oh,’ Ron said. <br/>Neville saw the shadowy bodies of Dean and Seamus go completely still in the dark, as if they were trying to keep a secret of their own. And Neville was angry, angry they had taken this secret tender part of himself and stomped on it. They never said anything but Neville wished they would tease him about it, as if it was normal. It was too late to take the words back (his voice and shook and he said it too loud, too finally) but he did anyway the next morning when Ron couldn’t quite meet his eyes and Dean rested a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. </p><p>						***</p><p>Neville looked down at the battered watch that his grandmother had given to him a few years ago for his birthday. The scratched face was red and, in a strong black font read the words: VERY VERY LATE. He groaned and apparated to the ministry, praying she was in a good mood.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a lil short something. Please give feedback if you'd be interested with me continuing it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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